


Drone

by Anonmus



Category: Randal's Friends (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drugs, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25054471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonmus/pseuds/Anonmus
Summary: A first work I did about a year or so ago. Thought I'd post to share. Enjoy.
Relationships: Luther von Ivory/Nyen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Drone

**Author's Note:**

> A first work I did about a year or so ago. Thought I'd post to share. Enjoy.

_Lord,_ he thought to himself, a beer can lingering a few inches away from his lips. _I really need to watch less TV._  
Nyen couldn’t remember what the day or time was when he decided to settle down on the living room couch. The time didn’t really matter though, did it? Life where he was didn’t work on a fixed schedule; whenever Life wanted to happen, it would. Hell, if Life chose to happen during an episode of a television show, it wasn’t going to hear any defiance. There wasn’t a lot he could do in spite of that, which can lead a man such as him to uncomfortable, exotic situations.  
So when Life chose to hex the channel for _Judge Judy_ , rendering it into static and white noise, the catman was stewing in quiet agitation. With the familiar feeling of a _Red Dog_ _Beer_ can nestled in between his knees, he expected a more laid back sit in. A cozy break from everyone and everything; just him and Judy. But Life had decided otherwise, so he would have to find another suitor for the night.

After an expedition into the cavernous crevices of the couch, the television remote was retrieved and quickly pointed towards the screen in an almost accusatory fashion, as if Nyen had watched it slaughter the judge in cold blood right in front of him. He flicked the button for the next channel with his thumb.

_Tschhhh_

More static. Wordlessly, he flicked the button again, albeit with a bit more pressure.

_Tsczhhhhh_

A grunt was heard. The button was fully pressed into its socket.

_Tschhhzhhh_

Pulling his lips back in a very catlike snarl, he held the button down this time, allowing the channels to fly by. With each half-second, a new channel filled the screen, giving out its own short cry of _tscch_ before being passed, only to be replaced by a similar, equally short lived cry from its neighbor.

_Tschz tschh tsch_

_Tschh tsch tzhhh_

_Tschh tzhh tschh_

The pattern of sounds seemed to continue for milenium. Nyen felt the noise crawl into his ears and seep into his head, coating his thoughts in a layer of gross fuzziness. He imagined a well intentioned old lady dressing his brain in a knitted wool sweater: the scratchiness of it being _just_ enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to warrant it unwearable. With the noise rendering him partially deaf, he almost passed the one working channel in the sea of static. 

“-aking the drone bee one of the most fascinating creatures of the insect world, however minuscule it may seem.”

The voice of a husky toned narrator seemed to suddenly rise from the flowing waves of _tscchh_ ing to gift Nyen’s ears with a kiss. Relief rinsed over him, but befuddlement was washed in as well: out of all the channels Life could have decided to spare, it chose a low-budget nature documentary? 

“Shit’s better than nothing,” he heard himself mumble. 

“A drone is a class of bee much different from bees of the worker or guard classes; one difference being that drones are all male. They are also stingless and follow a rushed lifespan...”

 _I take it back, shit’s not better than nothing. Who even watches this? The elderly?_ Nyen thought apathetically, _Hope the producers are enjoying their old people money. And I guess mine now, too._

Really, the anger directed at the documentary simply stemmed from the fact he wasn’t able to watch his favorite show. His behavior was something not unlike the behavior of a toddler who had just had his toys taken away by mommy. He recognized this, but couldn’t stop himself from muttering _horseshit_ under his breath as the television screen flashed with several still images of bee hives and flowers, all the while the narrator continued to talk in that smooth, suave voice of his. 

His mind had begun to drift off into thinking about more productive, pleasant activities; a manga, gifted by Randal, he had just started. He could be reading that right now. A mouseman he had heard in the attic a few days prior. He could be hunting him right now. 

_Serve. Serve. Serve._

The words rung fresh in his mind and jolted him out of the trance in an instant. His eyes raced to the television screen for answers. 

“Yes, truly, the drone’s one and only purpose is to _serve_ . Though the worker bees may _serve_ the queen by collecting pollen, up keeping the hive, and wax making, only rarely will they ever have to sacrifice their lives for her. But drones, however, are entirely dedicated from birth to _serve_.”

Nyen’s previous apathy for the televised documentary swiveled itself around into sudden curiosity. The catman’s hat twitched at its tips, seemingly on its own.

The narrator continued on to describing the drone bees short, almost pathetic, life: A drone is born into a hive and, once mature, leaves for a different one. The stingless, wandering insect, upon finding a receptive queen, passes on its genetic material. After its purpose is fulfilled, it is quickly made irrelevant: resulting in ejection from the hive or, more commonly, death. The servitude aspect was incredibly emphasized by the narrator-- he almost made it seem poetic. This guy probably cared more about the damn bee than the melittologist who discovered them did. 

He tried to brush off the strange sinking feeling in his stomach by giving up on the television, shutting it off and leaning back into the couch, an action performed with uncharacteristically uneasiness. The beer can homed between his knees made its way into his hand. 

Even days after the ‘incident’, Nyen’s thoughts continued to be stirred by the extraneous bug. He hated how he likened himself to it. How he found himself easily related to it. How, in a sickening kind of way, he envied it. Because, however odd it may seem, Nyen wanted nothing more than to drone for his master; _his queen_.

He knew the idea was absurd. Though his concept of human society was blurred, there was still a part of his mind that writhed and wretched in reaction to some of the thinkings that passed through his brain. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get livid about it; _Out of everything, you had to retain a sense of moral repugnancy? Losing everything else was ‘a-ok’, but you really needed to keep_ THAT _?_

Still, the thoughts and desires kept growing in spite of his conscious. The fantasy of having no free will, no personal motives outside of serving someone plagued his mind and body with a gross tingling sensation-- it only came to him later that it was butterflies.

Although the soulless documentary may have increased the voice of Nyen’s dissenting mind, it wasn’t his first run in with self-loathing. Those thoughts came out by themselves in any number of situations: being especially worse when the catman would finally run out of Marlboro’s.

No time was wasted after he had sucked down his last cigarette. The flood gates were unleashed and he had to deal with the coming wave. The thoughts crashed down in a chorus of wailing rage; _YOU’RE SICK!_ It would cry, _IT’S A SICKNESS! YOU’RE SICK! DO YOU REALLY ACCEPT THIS AS YOUR NEW ‘NORMAL’?_ His nerves would be completely masticated by the end of the tide. He would hate to admit it, or have anyone notice, but it’d often thrash him so badly that sweat would begin to form on his forehead.

It wasn’t the aggressiveness of the voice in his head that affected him; he’d dealt with enough violence and anger in his life that the only person he truly feared in an angered state was his master. Instead, it was the _result_ of those thoughts that piqued him. It was the extreme doubt he felt afterwards, in himself and in his master, that sent him into a spiral.

_I hate even considering this, but good God, what if I’m just like him? It’s an extreme self-assassination of my character to even compare myself to that half-pint, but God. Good God. What if I’m a Sebastian? How fast could I find myself in his skin, trapped and unable to escape? Are my desires to serve simply a ruse to convince myself? Do I want to leave? If I didn’t, would I even be thinking about it right now?_

“...How _dare_ you.” He hissed to himself through gritted teeth.

No, Nyen definitely didn’t want to leave anytime soon. He had lived with Luther for what seemed like forever now, but his inner doubt didn’t seem keen on sparing even the things he _knew_ he held dearly. If he had to deal with everything else around him being doubted, then sure, but he would fight like hell if conscious got too confident and started after his master. He was unmistakably, irreversibly infatuated with Luther, and he wouldn’t tolerate any suspicion towards that. Not even from himself.

It could’ve been at a bar or a garage sale; the setting really didn’t matter. Either way, Luther stood out among everything else, and Nyen was simply a moth to a burning candlestick. In one rare moment, he found someone who didn’t treat him with maliciousness, fear, or hesitation. For once, Nyen would be the intimidated, not the intimidator. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind being the one choking on his words. If anything, it charmed him to feel the weight of someone else's character; an aura of unspoken importance. He quickly got hooked on the feeling, and that was just alright by Luther. 

But, just like it goes in every crappy romance novel, love creates difficulties behind its warm disguise. Nyen started to grow jealous-- not of an insect this time, but instead of a person. A person who had been lapping up the sweetest of his masters attention like an avaricious kitten.

Nyon.

It was counterproductive for him to be seething. Afterall, Nyen wasn’t oblivious to the fact that monogamy was always stricken from the record. Competition between him and Nyon also wasn’t a new factor. Only now does Nyen see it past basic competition. Now, he sees it as a full on war.

 _They’re getting way too fucking close._ He dragged his nails down the side of the cat tower, his fingers bending in further on their way down. _And I know Nyon wants it that way, the bastard._

After the sound of tearing wool got boring, Nyen retracted his hands from the cat perch and opted to nestle them under his belly instead, tucking in on himself. Not long after relaxing did the sounds of the house start to settle back into his ears. The sound of breathing, footsteps from above, thumping from inside the walls, distant rustling. Living in it for so long, the haunted house-esque ambience quickly became his new sleep noise. After listening for awhile, his eyes heavy-lidded, a new sound made itself audible. The sound of cooing. In Luther’s voice. His eyes shot open.

“My sweet _Noo-Noo_ ,” Nyen cringed at his rivals’ nickname. “Are you ready to eat? You’ve been good, haven’t you?” A distant trill was heard, followed by Luther’s deep, pleased laughter. Nyen rolled over towards the cat tower once more and sunk his nails deeply into the material.

_There has to be something he’s doing that I’m not. I think it’s time for a little researching._

The most obvious thing Nyen came to realize from his observations was that he was more of a stone-faced bitch than he thought. It was startling to come to terms with, as he always saw himself as more animated than Nyon in terms of facial expressions. _In fact, I don’t even think I’ve seen the guy smile_ once _._ But after noticing the little details, he came to see just how someone could perceive him as ‘cold to the touch’.

For one thing, Nyon was an easy blusher. Whenever his master so much as glanced at him, his face would light up like the butt of a lit cigar. Nyen thought to himself that if a cop saw him like that, he’d probably ask him to take a sobriety test. Yet this thought was barely based in good humour and was proposed in a more serious, disdainful way. 

Then there was also the transparent happiness that would possess Nyon’s face when Luther would call him. His eyes would widen a bit and dilate, and Nyen could often see creases form at the edges of his mouth, almost like he was swallowing back a smile. And how he skittered to his master’s side! His excited, slightly nervous race to Luther was much different than the cool, quick strides Nyen would take. A pit formed in his gut. He knew now how the two grew so close: he had come off as uninterested, and Luther didn’t pursue.

From his place on the floor, the epiphany hit him full force, driving his head to drop onto the dense carpeting with a _thud_. He found his fingers knotting into the floor, his shoulders raised above his head as if he was about to do a pushup. Rage boiled up in him, but there was something else there too. Before he could figure out what it was, he hastily pushed himself off the floor and rose to his feet, eyes slanted and face twisted into a grimace. 

Nyen knew it wasn’t exactly logical what he was about to do, but he couldn’t care less. It was going to soothe all these confusing feelings inside of him and that's all that mattered right now. He heard Nyon’s footsteps in the hall as he strode towards the doorway.

_This is what I deserve._

His left wrist pinned to the wall by a single cuff, Nyen’s arm stretched past his head while the rest of his body slouched against the wall, almost corpse-like. His head drooped in a shameful fashion and his hands were clenched into balls. There was a smear of blood on his cheek.

Shortly before finding himself detained, Luther had discovered the tomcat on top of Nyon, brutalizing him with his fists, nails, and teeth. It wasn’t the first time a cat fight had broken out, but this was much more violent in its intentions. After surveying the extent of Nyon’s injuries, Luther issued swift punishment for Nyen, containing him to a single room and chaining him to the wall before leaving to tend to his other pet. 

Nyen had stayed silent through the whole thing, not daring to even chance a look at his master’s face. He didn’t regret hurting Nyon, no, not at all, but he did regret doing it after seeing the way Luther looked at him. His mouth stretched into a frown, creases rippling across his jaw. His master frowning was an uncommon occurrence, and the fact it was directed towards him made Nyen feel the pain of a thousand suns. Behind Luther’s blank eyes, he could swear he saw utter disappointment and confusion. He’d made a mistake. 

He had been sitting there for about half of an hour, head down all the while, when he heard the confident, directed footsteps of his master approaching the room. He ducked his head further down, ignoring the uncomfortable stretch he felt in his neck and hiding behind his now frizzy, unkempt hair. His face pulsed red and his eyes squeezed shut when he heard the door open.

Luther stood in the doorway for a moment, staring down at the slumped over catman. His hair was incredibly messy and his hat was barely hanging onto his head. He noticed the dried crust of maroon and the new blooms of bruises on his fists and formed a partial frown.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of you, was it?” Luther stepped fully into the room and softly swung the door behind him, “What was all of that about? Are you a feral cat? I don’t think so.”

Nyen’s eyes and mouth remained closed.

Luther took on a stance of confusion, his arms folding as he leaned back on one leg. He waited again, observing the catman, before slowly taking more steps towards him. Usually, the choice to not answer him resulted in some form of punishment, but this time he refrained. Something was off about Nyen and he could sense it. He didn’t even need to use his connector link to figure that out. 

He bent into a crouch in front of the tomcat and saw his face warped into a valley of furrows; he looked genuinely upset. And judging on how flushed his face was, Luther wouldn’t be surprised if there were tears prodding his eyes. Though he wouldn’t be able to know for sure, not with the tousle of pink hair in the way. He reached over and gently lifted the slipping hat off Nyen’s head, placing it on the floor next to him. Nyen tried his best to remain motionless, but couldn’t help himself from jumping a bit when Luther lifted a hand and pushed his hair to the side. He could practically feel his heart in his throat; the organ pulsating with renewed vigor at the touch of his master's hand.

His face now exposed, Nyen squeezed his lids shut even tighter. 

_I can’t look at you,_ He could feel Luther’s eyes-- whatever pair it might be-- burning holes into his skin. _If I look at you, I’m going to start wailing like an infant._

And then, unprompted, Life decided to rise from its slumber and happen again. But this time, when looking down at Nyen, it didn’t feel any lust to annoy him, like it did when it corrupted his beloved TV show into static. Alternatively, Life felt pity, pity for the position _it_ put him in. So, in a munificent act of favor, Life gave the exasperated catman a break.

Nyen’s vision was still covered by sheet of black when it happened. In those first few seconds, he didn’t even realize what was taking place. But when the warmth crawled over his lips, when the heat of a palm was felt on the side of his face, when he could feel a nose press into the crook of his own… _Did he…?_ When he started to press back into him, almost instinctively, receiving him eagerly… _Are we…?!_

His eyes fluttered open to be greeted by Luther’s. Even in this state, his eyes remained blank, the two black flecks of his irises stared almost unnaturally ahead. Anyone else in Nyen’s position would’ve been rightfully alarmed, but to him, the closeness of his masters face to his own made his mind careen into indescribable feelings of raw love. Still, he felt embarrassed to keep that locked gaze, and quickly shut his eyes again. This wasn’t their first kiss, hell, Nyen had been to a lot of different places with Luther, but it was the first kiss they shared in a long while that felt so genuinely tender. And after all the thoughts Nyen had dealt with, the intimacy felt like true nirvana on his spirits. Nyen forced himself to swallow back a cough of shock when he thought he could taste the sweetness of honey on Luther’s lips. _How fitting..._

When the two broke apart in an uncertain fashion, as if they didn’t really know if they wanted to stop yet, Nyen felt something roll down his cheek and pawed at it with his wrist. Then he felt more wetness and raised his other hand to wipe at it again. Upon realizing it was his own tears, he rapidly began to rub at his eyes to try and clear the leaking reservoirs.

_Shit, have I been crying this whole time?!_

His master simply observed him, and Nyen thought he could hear the faintest sound of a chuckle under his breath. With the tears all gone, he looked up at Luther and saw that his face, usually so starkly pale, was tinted a warm pink. Short chestnut strands poked out from his hair. The catman couldn’t do much but stare in awe at just how fucking _good_ he looked.

 _This has to be some kind of metaphor,_ he thought, still swaying on the pink cloud of high the kiss had brought him to. _He looks like Michelangelo's_ David _while I probably look like a toddler’s school project that was left in the kiln too long._

Luther abruptly stood up and started for the door, shaking Nyen off that pink cloud quite violently. He stared after his master in confusion and, admittedly, hurt.

“Oh dear I should go check on-” Luther began and then stopped, turning back around to face Nyen. His gaze rested first on his face and then traveled upwards to his wrist. “Actually, Let me get you out of there first.”

 _Oh, right._ Nyen’s own eyes stared up at his arm now. _Ow._

After freeing the wrist from the handcuff, Luther peered down at his pet, who was now attempting to rub the soreness away from his arm. A hand came down on Nyen’s head and lightly stroked his hair. 

“We’ll still have to talk later,” Luther said, now petting the catman’s head in pleasant back-and-forth motions with his fingers, drawing out soft purrs. “Though I think I know what’s going on here, you’re so tame now… Gosh, what kind of owner have I been. Hm.” 

With Luther having had left to once again tend to the impaired Nyon, Nyen was back to being alone with his thoughts. This time, however, his mind remained silent. There was no doubt nor hatred; nothing much at all. All Nyen could feel was the fuzzy, tingling sensation in his face. He slumped farther down the wall, his hands folded on his lap, eyes growing heavy. 

Lost in thought, the bee suddenly resurrected in his brain and at first scared him, and then quietly, in an accepting way, the thought of the drone died.

 _I don’t have to chase that things lifestyle anymore._ A great sense of ease brushed over him, sending him closer and closer to sleep. _I don’t think master Luther would like me as a drone…_

With a snort, Nyen realized Luther was going to make him apologize later. He rested his eyes. Things were going to be just fine.


End file.
